Mistaken Destiny
by hbwgonnabe
Summary: Finished! Sequel to The Rescue...Find out why the Network wanted Joe alive.
1. Default Chapter

"I'm off now," seventeen-year-old, blond-headed Joe Hardy said, poking his head into the doorway of his year older brother's room. "Sure you don't want a ride?"  
  
Frank shook his head, a lock of his wavy brown hair falling out of place and positioning itself on his forehead. "Callie's picking me up," he said, declining the offer. "But we'll meet you at Mr. P's."  
  
"See you there," Joe said, his blue eyes twinkling as he saw Frank's brown ones slide over him.  
  
"Freeze!" Frank ordered. "I was looking for that shirt."  
  
"I would have asked but you were in the shower," Joe explained with a sheepish grin. "Besides this one looks better on me than it does on you."  
  
"But it's my shirt," Frank said, frowning.  
  
"Your point being?" Joe demanded, slightly amused. "I thought you knew how to share," he added, crossing his arms in front of his chest and causing his muscles to ripple beneath the taut fabric.  
  
Frank opened his mouth to argue but closed it and sighed. Joe should have asked to borrow his shirt but he was right; it did look better on him. "Just ask next time," he said.  
  
"I will," promised Joe. "I'm sorry. Want me to take it off? It will only take a minute to change."  
  
"No need." Frank replied seeing real contrition in Joe's eyes. "You might as well keep it," he added, grinning. "It does look better on you but..." he paused for effect. "You owe me a shirt."  
  
"Just pick it out," Joe agreed.  
  
"You better go. Isn't Vanessa waiting on you at Mr. Pizza?" Frank asked, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"Yeah," Joe said, his eyes widening as he glanced down at his watch. "See you there."  
  
Joe pulled the van to a stop in the parking lot of Mr. Pizza. The restaurant was an authentic Italian pizzeria run by the family of one of Joe's best friends, Tony Prito, who had been born in the states only weeks after his parents' arrival.  
  
Joe looked around the lot and was thankful Vanessa was inside holding a table for them. The place was packed! Joe closed the door of the van and started for the building. A van pulled into the parking lot and Joe stopped to let it drive by but instead it stopped in front of him and two men leapt from the back. Joe was taken by his arms and pulled into the van which then drove through the lot and out the exit. The entire incident had taken less than sixty seconds.  
  
"I'm sorry we're so late," apologized blond-headed Callie Shaw for the tenth time since she had picked up her boyfriend.  
  
"Would you forget it?" Frank demanded, his brown eyes twinkling as he looked at the graceful figure of his seventeen-year-old girlfriend. "Joe and Vanessa are holding a table for us and maybe, if we're lucky, they will have already ordered and we won't have to wait forever."  
  
Callie turned and smiled at her handsome boyfriend after she parked her Nova next to the Hardys' van and shut off the engine. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" she asked, her brown eyes locking with his.  
  
"Not since this morning," he returned playfully, leaning over and giving her a kiss before getting out of the passenger side and going to the driver's door to hold it open for her. "For the record," he added softly as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I love you too."  
  
The two made their way inside, stopping just inside the entrance to look around. "Over there," Callie said, pointing to an area where two tables had been pushed together and Joe's girlfriend, blond headed, seventeen year old Vanessa Bender, sat laughing at something chubby, blond headed Chet Morton was saying.  
  
"Looks like all the gang's here," Frank said as they headed over.  
  
"Hey!" greeted sandy haired Phil Cohen. "Took you guys long enough," he added.  
  
"My fault," Callie said. "It took me twenty minutes to find my car keys."  
  
"Where did you find them?" asked, blond and beefy Biff Hooper.  
  
"In the ignition," Callie confessed, blushing a bit.  
  
"Where's Joe?" Frank and Vanessa asked at the same time.  
  
do you mean?" Frank demanded, his brown eyes hardening as he looked into Vanessa's gray ones. "He left home about thirty minutes ago and the van is in the parking lot."  
  
"He hasn't come in," Tony said, frowning.  
  
"Phil, check the restroom," Frank ordered. "Chet; Biff; let's check outside."  
  
"I'll start asking around," Tony said, heading over to one of the tables. Since he was working he couldn't leave but he was going to do whatever he could to help.  
  
Vanessa stood up. "Let's ask around too," she suggested to Callie and Helen and Karen. Helen Osbourne was Chet's steady date and Karen Black had dated Biff on and off, mostly on, for the past nine months.  
  
All four girls started circulating around the crowded restaurant, returning to the table just as Frank, Biff and Chet returned. Phil was already sitting down and drumming his fingers impatiently.  
  
"He wasn't outside," Frank told them, his voice thick with concern. As the sons of Fenton Hardy, a world famous private investigator formerly of the New York City Police Department, Frank and Joe were well aware of the importance of being where they were supposed to be. Since becoming detectives themselves, they never missed a meeting with each other without calling or leaving some sort of message. Since Joe was not here and the van was, there was only one conclusion Frank could arrive at.  
  
"Joe's been kidnapped." 


	2. Chapter 2

"Let's scout around," Frank instructed. "Girls, Tony, ask around in here," he instructed. "The rest of you, let's look outside." Ten minutes later they converged back at the table. "Nothing," Frank said in disgust as his friends sat back down.  
  
"Frank!" Tony came over and clamped a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Frank turned to look at his friend whose eyes shone with excitement. "What is it?" Frank asked, feeling Tony had a lead to Joe's whereabouts.  
  
"The guy at table fourteen, the one near the salad bar, said he saw Joe outside when he was coming in," Tony informed him.  
  
"Did he see anything happen to him?" Frank demanded.  
  
"He didn't say," Tony answered. "But I think he might have."  
  
"Why?" Callie asked.  
  
"He started to say something about the van but then paused and said he saw him outside," Tony answered.  
  
"Probably just saw Joe get out of the van," Chet grunted.  
  
"Maybe," Frank agreed. "But I want to talk to him anyway."  
  
Frank approached the young man at table fourteen. "Hello," he said. "Tony said you saw my brother outside when you arrived."  
  
"Yeah," the man replied, looking at Frank warily. "What's the big deal?"  
  
"He's missing," Frank answered. The other three guys at the table were now paying close attention. "What was he doing?"  
  
"Walking through the parking lot," the man replied a bit uncomfortably.  
  
"Did you see anything out of the ordinary?" Frank pushed.  
  
"No," the man answered, looking down at his plate.  
  
"He was just walking?" Frank pushed, understanding why Toney had thought he knew more than he was saying. "You didn't see anyone near him?"  
  
"There...there was a van," the man finally admitted. "The kid stopped to let it drive by but it stopped and two guys got out of the back, grabbed him and got back into the van."  
  
"Why didn't you call the police?" demanded the man to his right.  
  
"Because it all happened so fast; I thought that maybe I had imagined it," he snapped, turning to look at his friend. "It was like I blinked and he was gone."  
  
Frank fought to keep his anger under control. The oaf should have called the police! "Can you tell me what the men looked like who grabbed him?" Frank asked, his voice obviously controlled.  
  
"No," the man answered. "They moved too fast. But I did get the van's tag number. I have a photographic memory," he added.  
  
You're fantastic! Frank's mind screamed. "What was it?" he asked.  
  
"RKN 4139," the man said. "The van was a real dark blue and there was dirt on the tag but not enough to hide the number."  
  
Joe was in the van and it was moving before he even realized he had been kidnapped. "Where are you taking me?" Joe demanded as the van pulled into traffic.  
  
"Silence!" snapped one of his captors, pointing a gun at Joe and cocking the hammer expectantly.  
  
Joe sat still and said nothing as the van rolled along. He had hoped his captors would at least talk among themselves but they remained quiet and focused. The two men in the back kept their weapons trained on him while the driver paid attention to the road. The man in the front passenger seat kept checking the side mirror as he held a revolver in his right hand that sat tense on the armrest.  
  
Less than five minutes later the van stopped and Joe was hustled into the back of a limousine with tinted windows. His previous captors took off and he was left in the company of three more armed men with an unseen driver behind a partition.  
  
"Whoa re you?" Joe tried again to communicate. "Why did you kidnap me?" The men ignored him. Joe reached for the handle on the door but froze as he felt a gun pushed into his side with just enough pressure for him to know the possessor was serious but not enough to cause him any discomfort.  
  
Apparently, they had orders to take him alive and unharmed or dead. What a choice! Joe thought scowling as he leaned back against the seat. They rode in silence for almost half an hour before the car came to a stop. The door opened and Joe and the three men exited the back of the limousine. Two men were standing on the roadway. The limo drove away and Joe was escorted down a path to the edge of the ocean by the five men.  
  
"Put this on," Joe was ordered as a wet suit was thrust into his arms.  
  
"Why?" Joe demanded, his blue eyes narrowing, more to hide his fear than his suspicion.  
  
Two of the men reached for Joe and began taking his shirt off. "I got it!" Joe shouted. "I'll do it myself!" he snapped. The men stepped back but kept a close guard on Joe as he stripped to his briefs before donning the wet suit.  
  
A SCUBA tank was put on him as two men each donned suits and gear. Joe was then led into the water and pulled along by the two powerful divers down to a rock formation. Joe saw in horror the chains that had been welded to the rock. He began to struggle but the men were too strong and in no time at all Joe was chained to the rock and the divers swam away. 


	3. Chapter 3

"The van was reported stolen at two forty-eight this afternoon," said tall and graying Ezra Collig, Chief of Police, as he joined Frank and his father, Fenton in Collig's office at the Bayport police department. Once he had confirmed something had indeed happened to Joe, Frank had called first the police and then his father. Chief Collig had opted to handle the call personally along with Sergeant Con Riley, an officer in his middle twenties with curly brown hair and brown eyes. Like Collig, Riley was a close friend of the Hardys and usually took a personal interest in any case concerning them.  
  
"And we're back to nothing," growled Frank in frustration as Con entered the office and stood looking at a folder Collig handed him.  
  
"Actually, in this instance, this could be a break," Con corrected him. "There was a witness to the theft. The person identified was George Marquiese."  
  
"What do you have on him?" Fenton demanded.  
  
"His last known address is Bodenheimer Drive," Collig informed the Hardys. "I have already had the place checked out but he wasn't there."  
  
"Any idea where he could have gone?" Frank asked.  
  
"Negative," was the reply.  
  
"We need to check it out," Fenton insisted.  
  
"Of course," Collig agreed at once. "Con, you go with them."  
  
"This doesn't look like the home of a car thief," Frank said as the car came to a stop in the driveway of Marquiese' house."  
  
"I know," Con admitted. "The guy has no record. Not even a parking ticket. He's an executive at Freeway Electronics and has a moderate lifestyle. It doesn't make any sense that he would steal a van."  
  
"But is there a reason why he would kidnap Joe?" Fenton asked thoughtfully.  
  
"That's what we're here to find out," Con said, opening the front door after double checking his pocket to make sure he had the required search warrant.  
  
For the next two hours the three of them combed the house from top to bottom. Fenton and Con, finished with their sectors of the building, joined Frank in the upstairs bedroom.  
  
"Got something?" Fenton asked hopefully, seeing Frank frowning at a wrinkled sheet of paper.  
  
"Don't know," Frank answered. "I just found this. It was stuck between the bed frame and box springs. Looks like he may have been aiming for the trash but missed," he ended, indicating the small waste can between the nightstand and bed. "Got a pencil?" he asked.  
  
Fenton pulled out a mechanical pencil and handed it to his son. Frank laid the scrap of paper on the nightstand and gently ran the led back and forth across the paper. "It's a phone number," Frank said, reaching for the phone.  
  
"No," Fenton stopped him. "We'll trace it through the phone company. We don't want to chance tipping off Joe's kidnappers."  
  
The three returned to police headquarters and Con put through a call to the phone company but was informed it would take a little time and he would be gotten back to before long. They had been waiting for almost forty minutes when Frank saw a familiar figure dressed all in gray enter Chief Collig's office. "What are you doing here?" Fenton demanded, leaping from the chair where he had been sitting.  
  
"Marquiese is an Assassin," Gray informed the group, not wasting any time.  
  
Fenton paled and sank back into his chair. "Do you know where he is?" Frank demanded, terrified. The Assassins had gone to a considerable amount of trouble to try and get Joe last July but their plan had fallen apart when Joe had avoided capture and set up his own plans for capturing the Assassins and duping the Network in the process. Now, however, it looked like the Assassins had succeeded and Joe was their prisoner.  
  
"We have him," Gray answered. "And several of his cohorts. I was on my way to Bayport when I was notified of an attempt to trace a number to Luke Jacques. We sent an agent to pick him up but Marquiese committed suicide before we were able to prevent it." Frank knew that each Assassin was to be swallowed when capture was inevitable.  
  
"Do you have any idea where they took Joe?" Frank asked.  
  
"They took him to a drop off point and from there to Shore Road. He was led down to the sea and chained, with a tank, to a rock formation."  
  
"My GOD!" rasped Fenton. "He must be out of air by now."  
  
"If he were still there, he would have been," Gray confirmed. "But another group of Assassins picked him up."  
  
Joe watched part of the vast array of sea life swim by him, some coming close in curiosity before turning at the last second and swimming away. Joe's anger at his predicament turned to despair as he gave up trying to loosen the new chains from his ankles. Why had they gone to so much trouble just to leave him to die? Who were they? The entire kidnapping made no sense to him. Did it matter? He wasn't going to be around much longer anyway. He checked the dial on his tank. He was almost our of air.  
  
He looked around, trying not to dwell on the fact he was going to drown and saw two large shapes moving toward him. At first he thought maybe it was a pair of sharks but he didn't think sharks traveled in pairs. As the shapes moved closer he could see they were actually divers. Soon, Joe's arm was being held in a tight grip as the chains were removed from his ankles.  
  
Joe was taken to the surface and hauled into a small twin speedboat with the other two divers. Joe kept quiet, having realized by now asking questions was futile. He doubted they even knew his final destination. The boat sped out to sea for close to twenty minutes before coming to a stop. One of the men picked up a round metal device attached to a rope. He hit two buttons on it then threw it overboard. A few minutes later, the water rippled and a submarine broke the surface. One of the men looked at his watch and kept his eyes focused on it. Seconds later, Joe was thrown overboard and the speedboat took off leaving Joe in the water.  
  
Joe was alone for less than a minute before two divers appeared at his side. They must have exited the sub from a hatch beneath the boat before the sub surfaced to reach here so quickly, Joe thought. The two divers grasped Joe's arms and took him to the edge of the submarine and ushered him up a ladder to where more men were waiting for him. As Joe heard the order to have him taken below, he heard the speedboat's motor fade away. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Cut to the chase," growled Fenton. "Where have they taken Joe?" "We don't know," Gray admitted. "We were lucky this past summer," he continued. "We made a big bust."  
  
"What does that have to do with my son?" Fenton demanded. He had steered clear of all Network cases after the one where Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, had been killed in a car bombing. A bomb that had been meant for one of his sons as a warning to him.  
  
Gray looked at Fenton, ignoring Frank for fear something might be given away in a silent exchange. "It is possible that one of the captured men may know something."  
  
"Then I want to be there for the questioning," Fenton asserted his brown eyes hard and his face set.  
  
"Me too!" Frank declared.  
  
"No!" Fenton denied, turning on Frank angrily. "You will stay here."  
  
"But.."  
  
"No buts," Fenton interrupted him, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not have you associated with the Network in any way."  
  
"We'll keep an eye on Frank," Collig promised Fenton.  
  
"I am not going into protective custody," Frank snarled knowing that was what Collig had in mind.  
  
"You will remain in Bayport and wait for my return before you do anything?" Fenton demanded of his son.  
  
"Yes," Frank agreed without flinching. He had developed the art of lying without changing expression. It was a skill his brother envied.  
  
"Let's go," Fenton said, leading the way out of the office.  
  
"It was nice seeing you again," Gray said to Frank, holding out his hand.  
  
"You too," Frank replied, shaking his hand and then quickly shoving his hands in his pockets.  
  
Joe was taken to a compartment and locked in a small room. On the bunk were clothing and shoes. Sighing, Joe got out of the wet suit and put on the clothes and sneakers then sat down on the bunk. He heard a loud siren and then he felt like his stomach was falling. We're going down, he thought. Where were they taking him?  
  
It felt like he had been there for hours before the door opened and two men entered. One was armed and the other carried a tray with food and soda. He set the tray down and picked up the wet suit and exited followed by the armed man. The door locked behind them and once again Joe was left alone.  
  
"Wake-up." A voice drifted into Joe's sleep-fogged mind.  
  
Joe's eyes fluttered briefly before opening and focusing on the man standing over him. "It's time," the man said, his tone ominous.  
  
"Time for what?" Joe demanded a bit nervously. He had finally arrived at the conclusion that his abductors were Assassins. There were too many and they were too well organized to be anything else.  
  
"For your questions to be answered," he was informed. Joe stood and preceded the man out of the compartment. "Allow me to enlighten you on the layout of your new home," the man continued, his voice distinguished even though he was unshaven and his black hair a bit unruly.  
  
"The island is only accessible by helicopter or small watercraft. The rocks along all the shore on every side of the island are treacherous," Joe was informed. "A helicopter flies in once weekly with supplies."  
  
"Why are you telling me this?" Joe asked, turning to look him in the eyes.  
  
"I was ordered too," he replied calmly. "The island is small but large enough for you to explore," the man continued. "There is a small lake for you to swim in. However, the sea is ripe with sharks and you would be ill advised to try it," he warned Joe.  
  
"I'm going to get the run of the island?" Joe demanded in disbelief.  
  
"Starting tomorrow," the man acknowledged. "Tonight you are to meet your hostess and be shown to your quarters."  
  
"You're an Assassin, aren't you?" Joe asked, a bit perplexed by his treatment.  
  
"As is everyone on the island," the man acknowledged.  
  
"Then why have you brought me here?" Joe asked curiously. "Why go to all this trouble? You're going to kill me."  
  
"You must ask your hostess these questions," Joe was told. "My associates and I only carry out our orders."  
  
"And what exactly are your orders?" Joe asked.  
  
"To escort you to the house and tell you about your new home," was the reply. The man continued to talk as Joe was led topside and escorted aboard a small boat. Joe could see why a larger boat would not make it to the island. The last five hundred feet had rocks jutting from beneath the waves. Even the small boat he was in had to change directions several times to avoid crashing onto the rocks.  
  
Frank left the station and hurried out to his father's car, grateful his dad had ridden with Gray to the airport. Once in the car, Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out the curled up paper the Gray man had slipped him when they had shaken hands. On the paper was an address.  
  
Buckling his seat belt and putting the car into gear, Frank drove to the home of Biff Hooper. He was ecstatic to find Chet there as well. "Any news on Joe?" Chet asked.  
  
"The Assassins have him," Frank informed them. "The Gray man arrived at the police station and took dad with him to question some of the captives from the camp," he continued. "But he gave me an address to check out. I was hoping you could go with me?" he asked.  
  
"You bet we will," Biff agreed at once. "You think they're still going to take him to the head Assassin?"  
  
"I'm sure of it," Frank answered. "From what Gray told us, it sounds like Joe's abduction was well planned." He told the two boys about where Joe had been taken and subsequently picked up from.  
  
"In the water?" Chet asked, a thoughtful look on his face. "You think maybe they're taking him to an island or something?"  
  
"Why an island?" Biff asked, curious.  
  
Chet shrugged. "Well, Joe and Frank escaped from the fortress," he reasoned. "If he were taken to an island, he would have a harder time getting away."  
  
"Chet, you're brilliant!" Frank congratulated him, pulling out his cell phone.  
  
"Phil, I need a favor," Frank said when Phil picked up.  
  
"Name it," Phil returned.  
  
"I need to know if there are any privately owned islands," Frank said.  
  
"General location?" Phil inquired.  
  
"I have no idea," Frank admitted. "And even an island is a long shot."  
  
"But an island privately owned would mean no unwanted visitors," Phil guessed. "You really think Joe might be on one?"  
  
"We know for sure the Assassins have him," Frank began.  
  
"The Assassins?" Phil gasped.  
  
"Yes," Frank reaffirmed. "And they could afford an entire island."  
  
"I'll get right on it," Phil promised. "I'll call you when I have something," he added before hanging up.  
  
"Let's go," Frank said, looking at his two eager friends.  
  
Joe walked into the mansion with butterflies pelting the walls of his stomach. Why was he here? What did they want with him?  
  
"This way," Joe was directed. Joe followed the man through an archway into a spacious living room where a woman about five feet eight stood nervously twirling a lock of her long blond hair. Her green eyes lit up as Joe stepped forward.  
  
"You may leave," the woman told the men who had escorted Joe from the boat.  
  
Joe turned his head and watched as four men exited with the one who had told Joe about the island. After they had closed the doors behind them, Joe turned back to the woman. "Who are you?" he demanded.  
  
"Laurel Hardin," she answered.  
  
"Why did you bring me here?" Joe asked, his voice hard and eyes distrustful.  
  
Laurel picked up a picture and handed it to Joe. Joe looked at the picture of a little boy with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks almost like Frank did when he was younger, Joe thought. Joe looked from the picture back to the woman.  
  
"That was taken nine years ago," Laurel informed him. "Before he got sick."  
  
"Sick?" Joe asked.  
  
"He had leukemia," she told him. "That was when we found out he wasn't our real son."  
  
"What?" Joe asked, confused.  
  
"He needed a kidney," she said. "The hospital ran all kinds of tests on him and us. One of those tests revealed the truth. Our son, Danny Hardin had been switched at birth with the son of the only other woman in the maternity ward: Laura Hardy." 


	5. Chapter 5

"You're lying!" Joe hissed, his blue eyes spitting daggers.  
"Look at him," Laurel instructed, rushing to Joe and thrusting his hands up so he had to look at the little boy again. "He has Fenton Hardy's eyes; his hair; even his facial structure."  
  
Joe wanted to deny what she was saying but he couldn't. The boy looked like Frank had with only a few minor differences. "Then why didn't you switch us back when you found out?" Joe asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
"Jeremy, your father, and I loved Danny," she replied. "For eight years he had been our son. We wanted you but we couldn't give him up."  
  
"And now?" Joe asked, looking into her eyes. He was having trouble processing what he was being told. "Now, you'll give him back to the Hardys for me?"  
  
"Danny died two years ago," Laurel said quietly. "Jeremy died four months after that."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The leukemia finally won and Danny died in the hospital less than a week after his fifteenth birthday," Laurel informed him. "Jeremy was killed by a Network agent, a man who works under the code name, The Gray Man, during an operation in Santa Fe."  
  
"You're the leader of the Assassins," Joe said, his brain starting to function once again. "You had a bomb planted in my car," he accused her, his anger growing by leaps and bounds. "If I'm your son, why did you try and have me killed?"  
  
"You weren't the target!" Laurel denied her tone fierce. "The bomb was meant for Frank. I knew the only way I could get you away from Hardy was to get him to concentrate on something else. If his son were dead he would be grieving too much to think straight. You would have been brought to me then."  
  
"You wanted to kill my brother?" Joe rasped.  
  
"He's not your brother," Laurel reminded him. "You're my son. Frank is the Hardys' son." She reached for Joe but he backed away. "I'm your real mother," she said softly; her eyes bright with unshed tears. Had she really thought this would be easy? "Joe, please. Forget the Hardys. You're home now."  
  
"No," Joe denied, shaking his head and backing away some more.  
  
"You can deny it but it won't alter the truth. Fenton Hardy's real son died from leukemia. It runs in his family! Not mine. Not Jeremy's. Fenton Hardy's! You are my son and now that I have you back I will not let you go," she vowed.  
  
"I don't want to be your son," Joe snarled, his blue eyes filled not only with anger but also intense pain. "The bomb..."  
  
"I told you," she interrupted him. "It wasn't meant for you. It didn't even kill Frank," she added, realizing she might not should have told him about Frank being the target.  
  
"No," agreed Joe. "But it did kill Iola."  
  
"Your girlfriend," Laurel acknowledged. "I know. But you're young. There will be plenty of other girls."  
  
"She wasn't just my girlfriend," Joe informed her, all of the pain he had been keeping bottled up inside since her death creeping into his voice as his blue eyes grew sad and misty. "She was pregnant," he confessed, uttering the words he had kept hidden so no one else would have to suffer. "She was going to have a baby. My baby." 


	6. Chapter 6

Frank parked a block away from the address the Gray Man had given him. "Be careful," he warned Biff and Chet. "If anyone is here we need them alive." "Easier said than done with the cyanide pills," growled Chet.  
  
"We'll just get'em from behind," Biff said, his blue eyes hard.  
  
"They'll most likely be armed too," Frank added. He wanted to get whatever information he could but losing a friend in the process was not acceptable.  
  
Biff put a comforting hand on Frank's shoulder. "Easy, pal," he said. "We'll be careful and we'll find Joe." Chet nodded his agreement.  
  
Frank only wished finding Joe would be as easy to do as it was to say. He got out of the car. "Biff, you approach from the west and Chet, you take the east. I'll cut through the yard across the street and approach from the back. Keep low," he cautioned. "If there are too many people there, back off. This is not a suicide mission."  
  
"Got'cha," agreed Chet and Biff before moving away.  
  
Frank reached the rear of the house and looked around. He saw Biff near an oak tree to the left and Chet by the neighbor's fence on the right but no other sign of life was evident. Frank slowly made his way to the back porch and peered in the window. There were dirty dishes in the sink but no noise emanated from within. He motioned for Biff to move in and check the side of the house. Three minutes later Biff peeked around the corner of the house and shook his head at Frank. Next, it was Chet's turn. Again, nothing. They moved to the front of the house. No one was home.  
  
"Let's check it out," Biff suggested, reaching for the knob on the front door. "Got your lock pick kit?" he asked Frank.  
  
"Wait!" Frank hissed. Biff stopped just short of turning the knob. "It could be booby-trapped," Frank explained.  
  
Paling, Biff dropped his hand and stepped away from the door. "So, how do we get in?" he asked.  
  
"An upstairs window," Frank decided after looking around. "Stay here," he instructed heading over to the tree closest to the house. "I'll check the door and open it if it's safe."  
  
Biff and Chet watched Frank climb the oak tree and then jump the four feet to the roof. He carefully made his way to the small attic window and opened it. Fifteen minutes later, Frank opened the front door.  
  
"Took you long enough," Chet complained as he and Biff entered.  
  
"The door was rigged to blow," Frank said. "So is the back door and all the windows on the first floor. I didn't check the upstairs windows."  
  
Chet paled. "How did you get the door open?"  
  
"I disconnected the trigger from the knob," answered Frank. "But be careful and don't go near any windows."  
  
The three boys split up and searched every nook and cranny of every room. "I found something!" Chet hollered excitedly almost an hour later. He had been searching the living room and found a key buried in the sofa.  
  
Frank and Biff ran to the living room to see what Chet had discovered. "What does it go to?" Biff asked as Frank took the key and examined it.  
  
"A locker," Frank guessed after looking it over. "Like the kind at the bus or train station."  
  
"Or one of the old style lockers at the airport," Chet added, frowning. "It will take forever to find which locker it fits."  
  
"If it even fits one in Bayport," agreed Frank with a deep sigh. "And it's one of those that you aren't allowed to get duplicated."  
  
"I know someone who will," Biff inserted, grinning. "Jerry Gilroy. He has a job working at Bayport Building Supply. If we keep his boss busy, I'm sure he'll help us out."  
  
"Great!" Frank said, perking up. He knew Biff was right. Jerry was a friend of his and Joe's who had helped them out on a case or two. "But let's finish searching here first," he continued. "We're not going to get a second chance at this place."  
  
Three hours later, they left the house with the key Chet had found being their only lead. Frank drove over to Biff's. "Chet, can you call the gang together?" Frank asked. "Have everyone meet at your place as soon as possible. Biff and I will get the keys made," he added, checking his watch. "The place doesn't close for another twenty minutes."  
  
"What about the house?" Chet asked Frank. "What if someone tries to break in or something?"  
  
"I'm going to call the police with an anonymous tip," Frank assured him. "I'll use a pay phone when I fill up for gas. If I don't stay on for long it can't be traced."  
  
Frank and Biff arrived at the Morton farm about an hour later. They had reached the supply store minutes before they closed and Jerry had managed to make four duplicates before being forced to shut down.  
  
When Frank entered the barn where everyone had gathered, Callie ran over to Frank and gave him a quick hug. "Any word on Joe yet?"  
  
Frank looked over at Chet. "I thought you should be the one to tell everyone," Chet said with a glance at Vanessa.  
  
"Tell us what?" Vanessa demanded, catching the non-verbal exchange between Chet and Frank. "It's about Joe, I know that much. Who took him?"  
  
"The Assassins," Frank answered, his voice as haggard as his face. After reporting Joe's abduction to the police, he and his father had spent all night calling and checking files to see if someone had been released recently and come after Joe. When they went to the police station earlier that morning, Collig had gone over every crime in the vicinity that might have resulted in someone taking Joe out of fear Fenton Hardy would go after them. They had worked through lunch and while they were working, someone had called and reported the abduction vehicle had been stolen. Collig had immediately had the owner interrogated, afraid the Hardys might get a bit violent in their distress and then followed up on a search of Marquiese' residence before informing the Hardys. It had been almost forty-eight hours since he had been to bed and he was beginning to show the strain.  
  
"We have to find the locker this key fits," Frank said, holding up the key Chet had found. "We had a couple of extras made," he continued. "Chet, you, Callie and Vanessa tackle the bus station. Phil, you and Biff can check the train station and Tony and I will hit the airport."  
  
"No," Callie objected. "You're exhausted. If you don't get some rest it won't matter what we find. You won't be able to process it."  
  
"She's right," Tony agreed. "You go home and get some rest. Chet and Vanessa can handle the bus station and Callie and I will cover the airport."  
  
"But..." Frank tried to object but was overruled by everyone present.  
  
"Besides," Phil said, grinning. "I've got some good news. I think," he qualified his statement. 


	7. Chapter 7

"I could use some," Frank admitted, wearily running a hand through his wavy brown hair.  
"There are only two islands owned by individuals," Phil informed Frank. "One belongs to a woman named Nicola Katopolis and the second to a Frieda Maijer. Ms. Katopolis inherited the island from her uncle and it is located near Greece. Ms. Maijer's island is located roughly sixty miles from the shore of Brockton, Massachusetts."  
  
"Did you find out anything about Maijer?" Frank asked, his blood shot brown eyes locked on Phil with interest.  
  
"The most interesting thing I discovered was that she died almost eleven years before she bought the island."  
  
"That's not possible!" Chet exclaimed.  
  
"I think that's the point he was trying to make," Callie stated. "See, we have two possible leads to finding Joe," she continued, pushing a strand of hair away from his cheek affectionately. "Now, go home and get some rest while we follow up on one of them."  
  
Frank smiled and nodded his agreement. "Thanks guys," he said gratefully. "I will but, uh, let me know the minute you find something?"  
  
"Even if I have to drag you from bed," Callie promised.  
  
"If she catches him in bed they will never leave," Tony mumbled to Biff.  
  
Frank blushed. "All right you," Callie said, turning on him. "Enough of that. Frank, go home. The rest of you, let's get moving."  
  
Frank was still grinning at Callie's automatic take-over of leadership when he arrived home. Going inside, he found his mother on the sofa with her eyes closed. As he pulled the afghan from the back of the couch to cover her up, her eyes flew open and she jerked to a sitting position. "Did you find him?" she asked, her blue eyes looking up at him with a pleading expression.  
  
"Not yet," Frank admitted with a sigh as he sat down beside her. "We do have a couple of leads though," he added and told her about them, breaking off every sentence or two to yawn.  
  
"Go on upstairs and get some sleep," Laura ordered him. "I'll wake you in a little while." Too tired to argue, Frank did as he had been bid.  
  
Four hours later, Frank felt a hand on his shoulder as his mother's voice slowly roused him to consciousness. "Honey, you're father's on the phone," she told him when his eyes opened.  
  
Frank leapt from bed and raced into the hall and snatched up the phone's receiver. "Dad!" he exclaimed, snatching up the receiver.  
  
"Hello, Son," Fenton greeted Frank wearily. Frank could tell his father had also enjoyed very little, if any, sleep since Joe's abduction. "Your mother told me you had a couple of leads?"  
  
Frank told his dad about the key and Frieda Maijer. "I'll see what the Network has on her," Fenton said. "I will be home in the morning," he added. "Be there."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Frank promised hearing the direct order not only in his words but also his tone. Frank bid his father goodbye and returned to his room to find his mother making his bed.  
  
"Your friends will be here in about half an hour," Laura informed him. "You should shower and change and I will make sandwiches for everyone."  
  
"Thanks, Mom," Frank said, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her forehead. "I'll be down in a few."  
  
When Frank got downstairs, Callie, Vanessa and the guys were already there. "Did it fit anything?" Frank asked.  
  
"Yes," Tony answered. He waved a hand to a cardboard box on the coffee table.  
  
"What's in it?" Frank asked, falling to his knees and reaching for the box.  
  
"You aren't going to like it," Callie warned him, frowning. She and Tony had gone through the contents before leaving the airport.  
  
Frank paused in the process of lifting the lid. "But is there anything useful in here?" he asked.  
  
"No," Tony answered softly. He was dreading not only Frank's reaction but also Mrs. Hardy's because she would surely see the contents as well.  
  
Frowning but curious, Frank lifted the lid to the box and looked inside. With a shaking hand he reached inside and lifted a handful of snapshots. His face paled and his lips drew together in a thin line. Laura entered the room and set a tray of sandwiches on the table beside Frank. She sat down just behind him on the sofa and picked up a photograph.  
  
"Why?" she asked in a voice so low it was no more than a whisper. "Why have they been taking surveillance photos of Joe for the past nine years?" 


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh, baby," Laurel moaned as she tried to soothe Joe.  
"Get away from me!" Joe snarled. "I hate you!"  
  
Laurel pulled herself up and looked Joe in the eyes. "I understand," she said stiffly. "You're hurt. I'm so sorry. I never would have ordered the bomb put in the convertible if I had thought for one minute that you or your unborn child would have been hurt. I didn't know."  
  
"But you knew Frank and I were close," Joe accused her. "And you were willing to kill him."  
  
"He's not your real brother," Laurel entreated him to understand. "You can't be close. At least, not now that you know the truth."  
  
"Is it the truth?" demanded Joe, his blue eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. "This wouldn't be the first time your people have messed with my mind."  
  
"That was not my doing," Laurel told him, her eyes stormy. "My agents took it upon themselves to work with the people at Lazarus. The ones who survived to report in were disposed of."  
  
"You're a murderer," Joe said with contempt. "You could never be my mother."  
  
"But I am," Laurel insisted, her voice, like her countenance, growing weary. "We will talk further once you have rested," she continued. "Beginning tomorrow, you will be free to explore the island but for this evening I think you should confine yourself to your quarters."  
  
"Why?" demanded Joe. "What are a few hours difference going to make?"  
  
"It's your first night here," she explained. "You could get hurt in the dark."  
  
"So I am a prisoner," Joe stated.  
  
"Only by geography," Laurel assured him. "Anything you want, you have only to ask for," she continued. "Except, of course, for a phone or something like that," she amended.  
  
"You won't let me leave," Joe said. "No matter how much you sugarcoat it: I am a prisoner."  
  
"No, you're not," Laurel insisted, smiling faintly. He was just as stubborn as Jeremy had been. "As of daybreak you will be free to go anywhere you choose."  
  
"On the island," Joe specified.  
  
"Yes," she agreed.  
  
"See. A prisoner."  
  
Sighing in defeat, she went to the door. "Lance!" she called out. Within seconds, Joe's talkative escort from the ship arrived. "Please show Joe to his room and see that he stays there until morning."  
  
"This way, Joe," Lance said, leading the way out of the room and up a set of stairs.  
  
"So what would you do if I tried to leave tonight?" Joe asked Lance curiously as he was led up a set of stairs.  
  
"Put you to sleep," Lance answered. "All of the weapons in use on the island are filled with tranquilizer darts. You will not be harmed."  
  
"And she won't care if I leave the house tomorrow by myself?" asked Joe.  
  
"Not at all," Lance replied. "Were it not already dark at your arrival, you could have begun exploring already. There is no way for you to get off of the island so it doesn't matter if you go off on your own."  
  
Lance stopped in front of the second door on the left and opened it. "This is your bedroom," Lance informed Joe. "The door on your left is the closet and the one on the right is your bathroom." He walked over to a set of glass doors and slid them open. "Your balcony," Lance said. "But be careful. It is over a cliff."  
  
Joe joined Lance outside. He caught his breath as he looked out over the choppy sea. "It's beautiful," he breathed.  
  
"And dangerous," Lance warned again, pointing down. Joe looked down and saw what Lance meant. If he should fall, it was at least a five hundred-foot drop to the rocks below.  
  
"Dinner will be brought to you shortly," Lance said, going back into the bedroom. "Breakfast is normally at seven a.m. but since it's such a late night, we will be having brunch at ten instead. Welcome home," Lance ended before leaving Joe alone and closing the door.  
  
Joe looked around his prison. Along one wall was a large flat screen television complete with a DVD player. One of the bookcases that lined the opposite wall held a multitude of DVD's, all of which he had either seen at the theater more than twice or wanted too. There were two more bookcases holding an assortment of horror novels, comic books and car magazines.  
  
Near the balcony doors was an entertainment system with a CD player, cassette player recorder and radio. The speakers had been hung up; one on each side of the room. A desk was set up by the window near the balcony and Joe groaned when he saw a trigonometry book lying on top of several other schoolbooks. "I'm to be tutored, no doubt," Joe mumbled, going to the king size bed and sitting down. The bed rolled beneath him as the water was displaced.  
  
"Great," he grumbled. "Everything I could want except my family and freedom."  
  
Family! Joe fell back on the bed and looked at the ceiling forlornly. How were his parents...No, not my parents...going to react when they found out their son had been switched at birth with the son of the leader of the Assassins? Would they hate him? Would they blame him for the being alive when their son was dead?  
  
And Frank! Joe felt the tears spring to his eyes. How would he be able to survive without Frank? He depended on him for so much. Just seeing his face made Joe happy. Joe knew as long as Frank was there nothing could hurt him. Joe let the tears flow freely until his eyes closed and his head hurt too much to worry anymore. 


	9. Chapter 9

"Mom, did anything out of the ordinary happen nine years ago?" Frank asked, looking over at her. "A specific case dad was working on, maybe?" "Not that I can recall," Laura answered still looking at the photographs of Joe. There were even several of Joe playing in his bedroom when he had chicken pox at the age of eleven.  
  
Laura laid the pictures down and cleared her throat gently. "If you'll excuse me, I think I will go upstairs and lay down awhile," she said, rising to her feet. "There...there are some sodas in the refrigerator," she added, realizing she had forgotten to bring them into the living room.  
  
"Your mom's really upset," Biff observed.  
  
"Can you blame her?" Vanessa asked, a worried look on her face. "She just found out someone has been watching her son since he was eight years old."  
  
"But why just Joe?" Phil asked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Why not Frank too?"  
  
"Maybe they did but the pictures were kept elsewhere," suggested Tony.  
  
"No," Frank disagreed, holding up one of the pictures of Joe when he was ten. "I remember this," he explained. "I was right beside him when this one was taken. Mom and Dad had taken us to the circus and were riding the ponies. They were tied to this thing that kept them side by side as they walked. It would have been way too much trouble to get individual pictures there. They were lucky they got this one with only Joe in it."  
  
"What are we going to do now?" Vanessa inquired, her gray eyes staring into Frank's brown ones with a pleading expression.  
  
"Reconnaissance," Frank answered without thinking about it. "Dad's going to find out what he can about the island and who really owns it but he won't be here until tomorrow morning. We can use the Sky Sleuth and fly out to scout out the island. Maybe we can spot a good way in."  
  
"I hate to be the voice of reason," Vanessa said. "But it's almost dark now. You wouldn't be able to see a lot."  
  
"She's right," agreed Biff. "We would never make it there before dusk and there's no way we would be able to see anything at night."  
  
"And if they think someone is looking the place over, they may get scared and get Joe out of there before we can move in," Phil put in. "I'm sorry, Frank, but I don't think there is anything we can do tonight without maybe making it harder to find Joe."  
  
The door to Joe's room opened and Laurel entered carrying a tray. "I thought you might want some time to yourself tonight," she said as Joe sat up. She set the tray on the desk. "But if you want anything in the morning, be back by ten. Brunch will be served in the breakfast room. It will be your choice if you wish to join us for meals with the exception of dinner which will be served at seven pm each evening. If you are not present in the house by six thirty you will be found and escorted back. After dinner, you may do as you please."  
  
Joe scowled but never said anything although his stomach growled as the aroma from the tray reached his nostrils. "Goodnight, Son," Laurel said, moving to kiss Joe's cheek but stopping as she saw the hatred burning in his eyes.  
  
After she left, Joe went to the desk and lifted the cover of the tray. Chicken fricassee served with mashed potatoes, gravy, homemade biscuits and corn on the cob with an extra large glass of milk with which to wash it down. Joe sat down and devoured the meal; surprised to find it tasted just as good as when his mom made it. Joe felt a pang on his chest when he thought of the woman who had raised him. He loved his family so much. He didn't think he could stand losing them. If only the little boy hadn't looked so much like Frank, thought Joe miserably. But he had and Joe had no doubts that what he had been told was the truth.  
  
Joe finished his dinner then went into the bathroom. They even had his favorite brand of shampoo and toothpaste. Joe brushed his teeth then went to his bedroom door and opened it. Lance was sitting in a chair in the hallway reading a book. When Joe stepped into the hallway, Lance put the book down and stood up.  
  
"Sorry, Joe," Lance said. "You can't leave the premises until daylight."  
  
"I wasn't planning on it," returned Joe. "But I would like to see the rest of the house or must I wait until tomorrow for that as well?"  
  
"Of course not," Lance replied, smiling. "I would be honored to show you around."  
  
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Joe asked curiously.  
  
"You're Laurel and Jeremy's son," Lance answered as if that explained everything.  
  
"Not by choice," Joe answered with a scowl.  
  
"You'll change your opinion," Lance stated with certainty. "And when your mother retires, you will assume leadership."  
  
Joe's eyes flared but he kept his temper in check. "Can we begin the tour now?" he asked, his voice coming out strange as he gritted his teeth to hold back the outburst he so desperately wanted to make.  
  
"Shall we begin with this floor?" Lance inquired, smothering a smile. Things were going well. Joe was reacting exactly as they had expected. Laurel had insisted Joe be told the truth about everything since he would take over eventually and until the drugs kicked in to make Joe more affable it was a sort of test to see how Joe reacted under pressure. The fact that he still wanted to see the grounds and was keeping a civil tongue in his head after Lance's revelation proved Joe did indeed have what it took to be a leader of men.  
  
It was much later when Joe was escorted back to his room. He now knew the lay of the house from top to bottom, having insisted on seeing the attic and basement as well as every room and cupboard.  
  
Joe lay down on the bed and tried to think of a way to escape. He had seen where there were two phones in the household but whom would he call? He couldn't call his dad. Fenton wasn't even his real father. He couldn't call Frank either. He couldn't be responsible for Frank getting into trouble by trying to help him. One of Fenton's sons was already dead. There was no way he could justify getting them involved. This was his problem! Maybe he should just stay. He had nowhere to go if he did get away. Even if the Hardys wanted him now, they wouldn't want to see him once they found out the truth.  
  
No. He couldn't stay. They would find a way to make him one of them and he would NEVER be one of them. He would escape and he would do it on his own. 


	10. Chapter 10

Fenton arrived home at close to three o'clock in the morning. His face sported a growth of beard which was not altogether unpleasant but annoying to Laura as she kissed his rough cheek. "Do you know where they are?" she asked him.  
"On an island," Fenton answered her. "As soon as the sun comes up, Frank and I will get him."  
  
"Alone?" she asked, worried.  
  
"No," Fenton answered, a slight scowl marring his already irregular features. "But once the Network found out the leader was there, I couldn't stop them. They have to wait until daybreak as well or risk blowing the mission. Frank and I will be there first. Is he in bed?"  
  
"Kind of," Laura answered. "When he realized there was nothing he could do he tried to go to sleep but couldn't. He finally passed out on the living room sofa about four hours ago."  
  
"Make some coffee and I'll wake him up," Fenton said. "We need to leave as soon as possible."  
  
Laura left Fenton and went into the kitchen to make a strong pot of coffee and a light breakfast. Fenton entered the living room and shook Frank awake. "Dad?" Frank mumbled as he sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.  
  
"Time to get up, Son," said Fenton. "Go shower and change. We're leaving in a little bit."  
  
"You found Joe?" asked Frank leaping to his feet with his brown eyes sparkling.  
  
"He's on the island you told me about," confided Fenton.  
  
"For sure?" Frank demanded.  
  
"Have I seen him? No," Fenton said. "But given the facts, I would stake my life on it."  
  
"Should I call the guys?" asked Frank. "They want to help."  
  
"No," Fenton answered. "I'm afraid their presence might do more harm than good. I'll ask your mother to call them later and let them know what's going on."  
  
Frank nodded his understanding and went upstairs to get ready. Fenton, likewise, went upstairs to shower, shave, and change. When the two entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, Laura ordered them to sit down and then set a plate before each of them.  
  
"You two need something on your stomachs before you go," she said. "Eat everything on your plate," she added setting a glass of orange juice by each plate before moving to the coffee maker and pouring out two cups. She brought them to the table and set them down then grabbed the creamer from the refrigerator and sugar off of the counter and set them between her two men.  
  
"The Network is going to move on the island at daybreak," Fenton informed Frank as they ate. "We need to be there a little before."  
  
"Why not earlier?" Laura asked, not wanting any of her family caught in the crossfire.  
  
"The island only has two venues of approach," explained Fenton. "One is by helicopter and that is out of the question because it would be shot down, and the other is by small boat. Even a motorboat would crash on the rocks. The perimeter is bound to be heavily guarded especially since the leader lives there."  
  
They quickly finished their breakfast and Laura drove them to the airport where Jack was waiting with the Skyhappy Sal. He flew them to the closest airstrip and dropped them off. From there, they took a cab to the docks and hurried to a boat that Fenton had already made arrangements with the captain for.  
  
By the time Fenton and Frank reached the drop off point it was raining heavily. "Are you sure you want to do this?" the captain asked Fenton as they watched the small rowboat being lowered into the water.  
  
"We have too," Fenton stated. The weather in Bayport had been nice but the further along the coast they had moved, the nastier the weather had gotten. The waves were rough and even Fenton wondered if he and Frank could make it to the island in one piece.  
  
"Here are the life jackets you requested," the captain said, holding out two special vests to the Hardys. Instead of the usual bright orange vests, these were the same color as the ocean. "You do realize if something happens to your boat a rescue team will not be able to spot you," the captain warned them with a worried frown.  
  
"We know," Fenton said, smiling gratefully at the captain. "I want to thank you for all of your help."  
  
"Anytime," the captain answered, returning the smile with one of his own.  
  
Frank and Fenton shook hands with the captain before slipping on their lifejackets and climbing over the bow. Soon, the two were rowing quietly toward the island. The waves splashed angrily against the boat with an occasional one drenching Frank and Fenton. "Dad, I don't think we're going to reach the island in this," Frank said after the third wave in ten minutes left them sitting in water that was ankle deep.  
  
"I didn't think we would," Fenton confided. "But I had hoped we would get within swimming distance."  
  
"How are we supposed to get Joe off the island without the boat?" Frank demanded.  
  
"Leaving won't be a problem once the Network arrives," Fenton explained. "We just have to find Joe and get him out of the line of fire until the Assassins have been captured or killed."  
  
"Let's row faster," Frank begged as another wave drenched them. "This weather is getting worse."  
  
Joe woke up and jumped out of bed. He was hyped to explore the island and find a way off. He went into the bathroom and showered and brushed his teeth. Going back into his room, his thighs barely covered by a towel, he opened the closet doors and was pleased to find jeans and a tee shirt available.  
  
He dressed quickly and hurried out of his room and down the stairs. He had seen the rain outside his window but wasn't going to let that deter him. A little warm rain wouldn't kill him. He hurried to the front door and opened it.  
  
A shiver sent speckles along his arms and down his back as a blast of wind rattled the shutters. The rain was coming down in torrents, not the gentle late summer rain he had expected. He watched as the trees waved about wildly.  
  
"Do you really want to go out there?" Lance asked from behind him. "If so, here is a raincoat."  
  
Joe turned and gave him a sour look as he closed the front door. "What's the forecast say?" he asked wondering how long the bad weather would last.  
  
"Your mother was just tuning it in," Lance said. "Unfortunately, the satellite is down but the radio is working."  
  
"May I listen?" Joe asked.  
  
"Of course," Lance agreed at once. "If you'll follow me?" he asked lying the raincoat on the back of a chair. Joe followed Lance through the living room and past the dining room into the spacious kitchen. Laurel and four men were listening to the radio with frowns.  
  
"It's a hurricane," Laurel informed Joe and Lance as they entered. "The tropical storm they thought had died got some kick to it and is headed our way."  
  
"What's the name?" Joe asked curiously. He had been in four hurricanes to date and he liked to remember each one.  
  
"Erika," Laurel said with a wan smile at her son before turning to Lance. "Any survivors?" she inquired.  
  
"We found a shoe but that was it," Lance informed her.  
  
"Survivors?" Joe asked, his blue eyes narrowing on Lance questioningly.  
  
"A boat crashed into the rocks," Lance answered. "Captain Taylor reported it. Your mother had us search the island but only a few planks and a solitary shoe were found. The tide is fierce," he continued. "If anyone had been on the boat, their bodies would have been dragged out to sea." 


	11. Chapter 11

"Boys, prepare the shelter," Laurel ordered. "Lance, have Craig, Steve, Ralph and John help you board up the house. Joe, why don't you run upstairs and get your CD player and some books? We may be in the shelter a little while." Joe left the kitchen and headed back upstairs. In his room, he looked out of the balcony doors at the sea below. The waves swelled as they neared then broke violently against the rocks. No, a boat could never have reached the island in weather like this. Joe shrugged and turned away. Probably the boat had been adrift with no one on...Bodies! Lance had said 'their bodies.' There had been someone on board and they knew whom! Could it have been Dad and Frank?  
  
His mind made up, Joe left his bedroom and headed to the basement. He had looked all over the house last night and would have had free run of the island today had not the storm arrived. If they had captured someone the basement would be the most logical place to keep them. He stopped at the basement door and reached for the handle.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" asked a deep baritone from behind him. John Wesley had seen Joe head toward the basement and followed him.  
  
"I want to see the basement," Joe declared, his voice and demeanor braver than he felt.  
  
"I thought you were given a tour last night," John said. "It hasn't changed any."  
  
"I want to see it again," Joe insisted, his spirits picking up. It was obvious to him that the man was trying to talk Joe out of viewing the basement which could only mean one thing: there were prisoners and they were being held in the basement!  
  
Sighing, John waved a hand letting Joe know he should precede him through the door and down the steps. Joe pulled the deadbolt back and opened the door. He turned on the light and hurried down the stairs. Joe came to a stop on the bottom step. The basement did indeed hold something it hadn't the previous evening but it wasn't a living being. The place was loaded with crates; some of which had been opened and their contents lay glistening even in the dim basement light.  
  
"When did these weapons arrive?" Joe asked, taking in the mini arsenal.  
  
"Early this morning," John answered. "Just before sun-up."  
  
"The boat that was reported?" Joe inquired with the lift of a brow.  
  
"Was spotted as the weapons were brought to shore. It was belly up and floating until..."  
  
"Until it hit the rocks," Joe finished in a monotone. "You had better get back to work," he added then left the basement and went back to his room. He took a couple of books from the shelf then returned downstairs.  
  
"Have a seat in the dining room," Laurel instructed Joe. "We're going to eat before we head to the shelter."  
  
"Where is the shelter?" Joe asked as he followed her into the dining room and took a seat.  
  
"About a quarter of a mile from here," she informed him. "There is a tunnel that leads to the shelter that is accessible through a trap door in the kitchen."  
  
"Anyone joining us?" Joe asked as two plates were brought in by one of the men.  
  
"The men are busy preparing for the storm," Laurel told him. "Kevin, here, is our resident cook and his help is not required to help batten down the hatches."  
  
"Shouldn't I be helping?" Joe asked as a glass of milk was set beside his plate.  
  
"I just found you," Laurel replied softly. "I am not about to lose you. Don't worry," she continued. "There will be plenty of time after the storm for you to get used to your new home and take part in things."  
  
Joe frowned but picked up his fork and dug in. He was hungry and the shelter might not prove compatible to anything more substantial than canned beans and beef jerky.  
  
"It's no use," Fenton said as the oar was ripped from his hands. "We're going to have to swim for it."  
  
"I'm ready," Frank agreed. He pulled his shoes off and tied one lace to a loop on his pants. He started with the second shoe but a wave crashed against the boat and toppled it over. The shoe slipped from Frank's hands and disappeared from sight.  
  
"You okay?" Fenton asked as he floated to the surface.  
  
"Yes," acknowledged Frank, loosening his life jacket. The jackets had been for safety in case they had capsized. Now that they were ready to begin their swim, the jackets would be a nuisance.  
  
Fenton removed his jacket as well and the two Hardys kept silent as they concentrated on making shore. It didn't take them long to realize that every few minutes they could relax as a wave would lift them and carry them several yards closer to their goal.  
  
As they neared the island, they fought the oncoming waves, aware that they could be tossed against the rocks like lifeless dolls. By the time they did reach the deserted beach, they fell to the sand gasping for breath. All too soon, Frank got to his feet and gave his father a hand up. It wouldn't do to stay in the open too long.  
  
"The Network isn't going to be able to make it today, are they?" Frank asked once the two had found temporary shelter.  
  
"I doubt it," Fenton answered, his face marred by a dark scowl. "We need to find a better place to hole up for the duration of this storm," he continued.  
  
"You do that while I check the layout," Frank suggested. "We can meet..." he broke off as his father shook his head.  
  
"No. Joe's safe for now," Fenton interrupted him. "We need to..."  
  
"How can you say that?" snapped Frank, his brown eyes smoldering. "You have no idea what they could be doing to him. They've probably been torturing him since they got their hooks on him."  
  
"Calm down," Fenton ordered. "We can't help Joe if we get captured. And we can't rescue him until the Network arrives because there won't be a place on this island they wouldn't look for him."  
  
"What if they kill him before then?" Frank demanded. "We can't just leave him!"  
  
"They won't kill him," Fenton assured Frank.  
  
"Why are you so sure?" demanded Frank glaring at his father suspiciously.  
  
"Just trust me," Fenton begged. He knew now was not the time to discuss the matter. They needed a more permanent shelter and having a showdown, for Fenton knew Frank would initiate one, in the pouring rain and rapidly increasing wind would benefit none of them.  
  
Frank bit his bottom lip the way he always did when he was frustrated. He did trust his father but he hated being kept in the dark especially when the welfare of his brother was at stake.  
  
"Fine," Frank finally agreed in a tone that let his father know it was far form it. "Let's..."  
  
"Shh!" hissed Fenton as several men came into view. He grabbed Frank's arm and pointed to the shore where a small boat, slightly larger and better built than the one they had been on, was making its way to shore.  
  
They watched as the boat touched shore and its cargo was unloaded. Several minutes later, the boat left and the men carried the crates up the beach and into the brush. Once the men hit the brush, Fenton and Frank followed. Keeping close to the lush undergrowth, they kept the men in sight as they made their way to a large house.  
  
Thunder cracked and a tree near Frank was hit by lightening. Unintentionally, he jumped and emitted a shout. He caught his breath and stood still as he waited for the men to stop and look his way but the wind was howling much too loudly for him to have been heard. The men continued on undisturbed.  
  
Once the men entered the house, Fenton and Frank made their way to the door and peered inside. Seeing no one, Frank reached for the handle but was halted by his father who grabbed his wrist. Shaking his hand, Fenton pulled Frank away from the house.  
  
"Dad," Frank said, shaking his sleeping father's shoulder almost three hours later.  
  
The two had found shelter in a small cave less than a hundred yards from the house. Fenton, having had only a couple of hours of sleep on the flight home from DC had fallen asleep soon after they settled in. Frank remained awake, worry about his younger brother depriving him of any attempt to rest his weary body.  
  
"Wh..what is it?" Fenton asked, slowly awakening.  
  
"Something's going on," Frank informed his father. Fenton went to the edge of the cave and peered through the rain at the house. Several men were outside the house putting boards over the windows.  
  
"Blast it!" cursed Fenton. "We must be in for a hurricane," he said, his gaze flickering to the tall trees whose thick branches were moving in the wind. "We're going to have to get inside," he added. "We'll never survive out here." 


	12. Chapter 12

Fenton and Frank left the small cave and skirted the house. "Looks like the front is the only way in," Frank commented, looking at the sheer drop at the back of the house.  
"Or that window," Fenton said, pointing to a small window in the back of the house. It was within reach but entering would be tricky.

"Let's give it a shot before they finish with the front and get busy with the side windows," Frank said. "You go first," he continued. "I'll keep you anchored until you can get it open and slip inside."

Frank held fast to his father's leg as Fenton edged to the window and slid it up. Guess there's no point in locking it, Fenton thought, casting a grim look at the rocks below. With a heave from Frank, Fenton slid over the sill and into the small utility room. He quickly turned around and motioned for Frank to proceed. Frank edged over and grasped the sill. His left leg swung precariously over the open expanse for a brief moment before his father started hauling him inside.

Fenton silently closed the window as Frank caught his breath. Frank's eyes narrowed as he heard muffled shouts from outside the room. "Sounds like Joe," Fenton whispered. He eased the door open and made his way into the hall with Frank at his heels.

"And you are off your rocker!?" Joe was shouting as the two neared the dining room. "There is no way! NONE!"

"You feel that way now..." the woman who was with Joe began.

"I will always feel this way," Joe informed her stonily. "I will never become a member of the Assassins, let alone the leader."

Frank gave a low gasp and gripped his father's arm tightly. That was why they wanted Joe so badly? No, Frank pushed the idea from his head. There had to be another reason. Lead the Assassins? Frank's mind screamed. The current leader must be truly insane to think for a minute that Joe would even consider being on their side. Joe would never betray his family or himself that way. He wasn't a killer. It simply wasn't in him.

"Joseph, please calm down," the woman ordered him. "I know this is sudden. To you anyway," she amended. "But it is your destiny. I wish you wouldn't try to fight it."

"I make my own destiny," Joe declared. "And you and your kind are not a part of it."

"That is where you are wrong," she corrected him. "I am very much a part of your destiny. Your future is with me. Not those Hardys. You have no place with them."

"May...maybe not," stuttered Joe, his heart breaking. "But Iola was killed because of you and I don't have a place with you!"

"There will be other girls," Laurel insisted, trying to comfort him.

"And other babies?" Joe sneered. "You took my child from me," he continued as tears began to stream down his face. "I could never forgive you for that. I would never forgive anyone for that!"

"Joe!" Laurel shouted, rising to her feet as Joe took off running through the door. She hurried after him.

"Iola was pregnant?" whispered Frank, his face white with shock. "No wonder Joe still hasn't gotten over her."

"He never told you either?" Fenton asked, looking at Frank, his own features wan from hearing the devastation in his youngest son's voice. As close as Joe and Frank were he had a hard time believing Joe hadn't told Frank something so vitally important.

"He never said a word," denied Frank. "I didn't even know they had ever..." he broke off, aware he didn't need to say any more.

Fenton closed his eyes as he replayed the conversation he had just heard in his head. You have no place with them. And Joe had agreed! A tear slipped down Fenton's face. This nightmare was getting worse.

"We had better find a place to hide," Fenton rasped, his voice thick with emotion as they heard the window breaking from the room they had just exited.

"This doesn't seem like a very safe house to me," Frank commented. A house on a cliff in a hurricane seemed like a very bad place in which to be trapped. "If there's a basement, it's probably the only safe place around and then, I wouldn't make any bets."

Fenton nodded. "Too bad we won't be able to go into the basement," he commented. "Looks like it will be full."

"Sir!" a voice called out. Fenton and Frank froze.

"Yes?" inquired the second voice.

"The shelter is ready and all of the front and side windows have been fortified," the first voice reported.

"I'll inform Laurel and Joe we're ready to leave," the second voice stated. "Have everyone report to the kitchen. We will be using the tunnel to reach the shelter."

The Hardys waited until all was quite then made their way back to the utility room. The wind and rain coming through the broken window made the air cold but they needed to stay there only long enough to give everyone time to retreat to the tunnel in the kitchen.

"We'll raid the house for supplies and then find a place to hole up for the duration," Fenton said. He dreaded the next few hours. He knew once Iola being pregnant when she died had sunken in Frank would be thinking about the rest of the conversation they had overheard. Fenton prayed the storm would be as swift moving out as it had been moving in. Staying cooped up with a son who would be angry enough to kill him wasn't his idea of conserving energy and they would need all they had to get Joe and escape before the Network could move in. He was sure the Network would arrive the minute the storm had passed over.

Frank glanced at his watch. "It's been almost thirty minutes," he said. "Think they're gone?"

"Let's try it," Fenton replied. "Just keep quiet," he added, easing the door open. The two exited the utility room and closed the door behind them. They made their way into the dining room and stopped to listen. Hearing no sound, they went through the opposite door Joe had exited earlier. Frank started to open a cabinet but froze as a part of the floor began to rise.

Fenton and Frank raced for the dining room and paused outside the door to the kitchen to listen. "Why did Lance send us back?" one of the two men who came through the tunnel inquired.

"For the pills," was the reply. "Until Joe gets used to being around he has to be given the Rhyozine."

"Isn't that what they give rowdy kids at some of the schools?"

"It's in the same family. But this stuff is stronger. He's already had three doses. By the time he's had his sixth one, he'll be so docile he'll do anything he's told."

"Wish I could order him around," the first guy said with a laugh.

"If I were you, I'd keep remarks like that to myself," he was warned. "Or you won't live to see another day." 


	13. Chapter 13

Fenton's hands bunched into fists and his face became a deep red. Frank grabbed his dad's upper arm in a tight grip. He was afraid his father would go charging into the kitchen and take care of the matter himself.  
As Fenton took several deep, calming breaths, Frank released him although he watched his father with a curious expression. Joe had been drugged before. People had even threatened Joe in ways much worse than trying to control him, yet Frank had never seen his father so angry. Again, Frank was certain his father knew something he wasn't telling.

They waited until the men had retrieved what they returned for and left before reentering the kitchen. Frank raided the upper cabinets while Fenton went after the lower ones. With a small supply of water, food and even a small hand-held radio, they exited the kitchen and searched for a safe place to stay.

"Hey, there is a basement," Frank called out in surprise as he opened the door and flipped on a light at the top of some stairs.

"Great!" called out Fenton closing the door to the library and hurrying to Frank's side. "I don't think we're going to have a long wait," he said as they descended the stairs. "The wind has picked up a lot in just the past few minutes."

"Which means we could be here for a few hours or a day or two depending on how big this thing is," Frank commented with a scowl. By the time they did get to Joe, would he come with them? Even if they had killed Iola, once Joe was heavy into the medication would he.... Maybe not, Frank heard Joe's voice reverberate through his mind and froze.

"Something wrong?" Fenton asked from behind.

"Why did Joe agree when that woman told him he had no place with us?" Frank asked, his voice hard and eyes determined as he turned to glare at this father.

"Did he?" Fenton asked feigning innocence as he focused his attention on the steps.

"You heard him," accused Frank. "You know why he said that, don't you? Tell me," he ordered.

"This isn't the time," Fenton tried to stall.

"This IS the time," Frank insisted, his voice threatening as he glared at his father.

Fenton sighed. "Very well," he agreed haggardly. "But let's get settled in first."

Frank gritted his teeth and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs, stopping when he saw the crates from earlier; some of which were open and showing their contents.

"Looks like they are getting ready for a war," Fenton commented, looking at the open crates.

"With the Network?" asked Frank, his brow furrowing.

"If so, there's a spy at headquarters," Fenton replied. "And that means we can't afford to wait until after the hurricane to get Joe. They may move him."

Joe accompanied Laurel, Lance and the others through the trap door in the kitchen and into the tunnel below. After a short trek they arrived at a large metal door. One of the men opened it and then stepped aside to allow Laurel and Joe to enter.

"You can have the room to your right," Laurel told Joe. "It's small but it will give you a little privacy. If you need me, I will be in the other room," she added, nodding at a door at the other end of the large communal area. "The boys will be camping out here in the main room."

Joe nodded and headed for his assigned room. Lance followed him to the door. "If you get lonely, feel free to join us," Lance offered.

"Thanks," Joe replied. Joe was convinced Lance was the most dangerous of the men he had encountered thus far but he couldn't help but like him. Lance had not only been professional but also respectful and friendly.

Joe gave him an almost shy smile before turning away and entering his room. Lance closed the door, his own lips curled at the corners as he looked at two of his men. "Joe came into the kitchen before I could get his medication," he said. "John, you and Craig return to the house. The Rhyozine is on the top of the third shelf over the sink."

"Can't he skip a dose or two?" complained Craig.

"No," Lance replied. "It is already beginning to affect him. In no time at all he will be following Laurel's orders without complaint."

After his door closed, Joe lay down on the bed and stared at the rocky ceiling. From the brief time he had spent in the main room and looking around this meager, albeit comfortable, room he was convinced a lot of time and effort had been put into the shelter. He had no doubt that with the right amount of supplies they could stay here for at least a week. That is, if it got no hotter. He had always heard the temperature remained a constant sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit underground but he supposed the generator added to that.

Joe frowned as he thought about the island so far away from civilization. Generators must run the whole place, he thought. I hope the heat doesn't collect down here.

Joe yawned and closed his eyes. He hadn't been awake for more than a few hours and he hadn't done anything strenuous so he couldn't understand why he felt so tired. As the silence rocked him he became completely drained of all energy and fell asleep.

"We're settled," Frank said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. "Talk to me," he ordered.

"Later," Fenton said attempting to stall once again. "We need to figure out a way to get your brother away from..."

"Stop it!" ordered Frank, his eyes flashing. "I want to know everything and I want to know it NOW!"

Sighing, Fenton leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "When Joe was eight, your mother and I received a phone call from one Jeremy Hardin," Fenton began. "His eight-year-old son, Danny, had leukemia and needed a kidney transplant. While Jeremy was being tested for a match it was discovered that Danny wasn't his biological son. Jeremy did some checking. Only one other child had been born on the same night at almost the exact same time as Danny."

"Joe," breathed Frank.

"The hospital had gotten the boys mixed up during clean up," confirmed Fenton. "Only the mother's initials were placed on the bracelets that had been put on their ankles but the initials were the same. When Jeremy came to us with the news we were flabbergasted. At first, we were terrified they wanted to take Joe away from us."

"They didn't?" asked Frank.

"No. They loved Danny as much as we loved Joe. We all felt it was for the best if neither Joe nor Danny ever found out the truth," Fenton explained.

"Why?"

"The mix up wasn't their fault," Fenton explained, finally opening his eyes and looking at Frank. "How could we just trade children? I loved Joe after I found out about the switch just as much as I had before. I could see Jeremy felt the same way about Danny. In every way that mattered, Joe was our son. His DNA made no difference. I would never have given Joe up then even if Jeremy had wanted to switch them back but, as I said, he felt the same way about Danny," Fenton concluded.

"If he didn't want Joe back, what did he want?" Frank demanded, relieved to know his dad hadn't even considered exchanging his brother for some kid he didn't even know.

"A kidney," Fenton answered. "Danny may have become Jeremy and Laurel's son but he was my flesh. He needed one of my kidneys. It would give him a better chance at survival than a kidney from another donor."

"Did you give it to him?" Frank asked, although he was sure he knew the answer.

"Yes," admitted Fenton. "It was the least I could do."

"But what does all that have to do with the Assassins?" Frank asked in confusion.

"When your mother called me in DC and said you had found a box of photographs of Joe from the time he was eight years old we...yes, your mother had an idea but we weren't ready to tell you," he put in before Frank could interrupt. "We suspected Joe's abduction had something to do with his natural parents. When I found out who owned this island, it was conclusive."

"Wait a minute," Frank stopped him. "You're trying to tell me that Joe's natural mother is the leader of the Assassins?" he demanded his brown eyes wide in shock. "That's why they wanted Joe so badly?"

"I'm afraid so," Fenton replied, watching Frank closely. He seemed to be taking this better than Fenton had thought he would.

"What about Jeremy?" asked Frank.

"He was killed a little over a year ago," Fenton informed Frank. "A few months after Danny died."

"But why now?" asked Frank in confusion. "And why were the pictures in the locker?"

Fenton shrugged. "I'm guessing, but I think Jeremy felt something for Joe even though he agreed to stay out of his life. I felt that way about Danny but I knew if I got anywhere near him he might figure it out."

"Why?" Frank asked. "Joe didn't. I didn't."

"Because Danny looked a lot like me. A lot like you, too," Fenton added. "There would be no mistaking you and he were brothers."

"The way people sometimes mistake Joe and me as not even being related because we are so different," Frank said with a shake of his head. He looked into his father's eyes, his own filled with determination. "I don't care if that woman is his natural mother. Joe will always be my brother."

"Yes, he will," agreed Fenton. "I don't know why she came after Joe, except maybe she hasn't gotten over losing Danny and Jeremy and she expects Joe to fill that void."

"That's why she had the pictures?" Frank wanted to know.

"I doubt she even knows about them," Fenton answered. "You know your mother. Do you honestly think she would keep your pictures somewhere where she couldn't look at them whenever she wanted?" Frank shook his head. "I think Jeremy either took the pictures or had someone take them. He then kept them at the airport so he could get to them without Laurel knowing."

"So she really won't hurt Joe," Frank said feeling some of the tension leave his body.

"No, but she is using drugs to control him," Fenton stated, his voice hardening. "If she thinks she's going to steal my son and make him hers then she has another think coming! No one is going to make Joe choose who he wants as his family. Not even Joe!"

Frank watched his dad's brown eyes turn almost black as he spoke. He had heard stories of his father's temper but this was the first time he had seen it for himself. Frank smiled. He knew without a doubt, they would get Joe back just as he knew the Assassins would need a new leader if his father got anywhere near Laurel Hardin. 


	14. Chapter 14

Joe's eyes flickered open but he remained lying down. He was burning up and he felt like crap. Groaning, he sat up but the room began to spin so he lay back down. Not a good idea he decided quickly and jerked back up. He snatched the small waste can by the bedside and made a deposit.  
Finished, he lurched to his feet and staggered to the door. Opening it, he saw Laurel and the other Assassins in the main room, their attention focused on the radio that was giving the current weather conditions.

I must have been out for hours, thought Joe after learning they were currently in the eye of the hurricane that was expected to last for about another two hours. He grinned. He had time to sneak back to the house and take a cool shower. Granted, he had been given free reign over the island but he somehow doubted that freedom included times of emergency like now.

Quietly, he closed his door and made his way to the door they had arrived through. He eased it open and slipped through to the other side, shutting the door silently after checking to make sure their attention was still focused on the radio.

He lay against the rocky wall and closed his eyes. It was a bit cooler here in the main tunnel but that was probably because the shelter was packed with live bodies. Feeling better he pushed away from the wall and headed back through the tunnel putting one hand in front of him as he went, wishing he had brought a flashlight.

"How are we going to get Joe and get out of here after the storm but before the Network arrives?" asked Frank of his father after they had been silent for awhile.

Fenton turned on the transistor he had brought and tuned it to the only station it would pick up. Fortunately, it was for Beachcomb, the seaside town from which he and Frank had departed earlier.

Both Hardys remained silent as news of Hurricane Erika was broadcast. She was a category one hurricane that was rapidly diminishing to tropical storm status. The eye should reach the coast within the next hour and last no more than two hours.

"That means the eye will hit here first," Frank said as Fenton switched the radio off.

"It also means we have only a few hours to scout around and come up with a plan," Fenton said. "I think we should wait maybe thirty more minutes and then try and venture out."

Thirty minutes later the two left the safety of the basement. "You look upstairs and I'll check out down here," Fenton said. "But be careful. I doubt any of them are still around but..." he left the idea floating in the air as he moved away.

Frank went upstairs and began looking through the various rooms. There didn't seem to be anything about the house he could find to indicate it was a stronghold for Assassins apart form the arms in the basement. There wasn't a weapon anywhere else to be found.

Frank opened the next door he came too. There was glass all over the floor from where the balcony doors had blown in during the storm and the floor was filled with books and magazines that had been scattered by the wind.

Frank's curiosity turned to anger as he realized this must be the room Joe had been given. He could see Joe settling in here; curling up on the bed with one of the car magazines or a horror book. Frank spotted the model corvette Joe had wanted from Tory's Hobby World only two weeks ago.

"How could they have been watching Joe so closely and me not know it?" Frank growled, his anger directed at himself for failing Joe as he left the room.

Maybe not. Joe's words came back to haunt him again. Did Joe really believe they wouldn't want him just because he wasn't born a Hardy. He was raised one. Did Joe really think that counted for nothing? Didn't he know how much he loved him? How much they all loved him?

Blast it! Joe was his brother not this Danny person. How could Joe think for one moment that he would prefer someone he didn't even know over him? He knew Joe! Knew every smile; every glance; every thought. Or at least I thought I did, Frank amended as Joe's revelation about Iola popped into his head. Frank bit his bottom lip. Once this mess was over and Joe was back home where he belonged, they were going to have to talk about it. Frank knew why Joe hadn't mentioned it. He obviously felt bad enough about Iola and to let the Mortons know they had also lost a grandchild would have been more than Joe could handle. But he should have told me!

Frank headed down the stairs to find his dad. He was going to get Joe and take him home and no one, not the Assassins, his dad, the Network, or even Joe, was going to stop him!

"That was a bust," Frank said, finding his dad in the living room. "There wasn't anything that could help us up there."

"We can always borrow some of the artillery from the basement," Fenton suggested turning to look at Frank who had stopped beside an end table.

Frank picked up a frame and looked at the picture. "Danny," he stated seeing the similarities between the boy and himself. "I didn't see any other pictures of him around the place."

"They probably put them up so Joe wouldn't feel odd," Fenton said with a shrug.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have like if Joe and Danny hadn't been switched?" Frank asked.

"No," replied Fenton truthfully. "I could never think of Joe as anyone but my son. Even your suggestion sounds ridiculous."

"I wonder if Joe knows that," Frank said thoughtfully as he set the frame down without another glance.

"If he doesn't, he will," Fenton vowed. "Come on," he said, turning and heading to the kitchen. "Let's go see if there is anyway we can snatch Joe in the tunnel."

The two reached the kitchen just as the trap door swung up. Out popped a blond head as Fenton brought his foot back. As the face turned, Fenton's foot connected with the chin and the blond fell, half in and half out of the tunnel with his upper torso lying on the kitchen floor. 


	15. Chapter 15

Frank bent down and grabbed the man's arms and hauled him out of the tunnel. Fenton carefully looked down into the tunnel to see if there were any other Assassins coming. Seeing none, he closed the trapdoor.  
"Let's tie him up before he comes too," Fenton said.

Frank nodded but instead of going for rope, he pried open the man's mouth and searched for the false tooth. Finding it, he gave it a little pull and dislodged the cyanide pill contained within. Standing up, he tossed it into the sink and then went after the nylon line he had seen earlier in the utility room.

"Kevin, would you please fix us all something to eat?" Laurel asked shortly after Joe had made his exit.

As Kevin made his way to the small portable stove, Laurel went to Joe's room and knocked on the door. Receiving no answer, she eased the door open expecting to find him asleep. Finding an empty bed, she pushed the door open all the way and entered. "Lance!" she called out, her eyes spying the waste can Joe had used.

Lance was in the room in seconds. "He's gone," he observed in surprise.

"Indeed," Laurel agreed through tight lips. "This is only the eye of the hurricane," she continued. "He could get hurt up there. Have one of the men return to the house and look for him then radio the captain of the submarine and tell him to surface and scan the beach for Joe. Joe may have decided it was safe to explore if he did return to the house and find everything quite."

"At once," Lance agreed. "I will have the rest of the men sweep the exits from the tunnel in case he never reached the house."

"Very good," Laurel agreed, picking up the waste can. Taking care of Danny had gotten her used to cleaning up these kinds of messes but she was grateful Joe had used the can instead of the floor.

Fenton bound the man's hands while Frank took care of his feet. "Let's get him to the basement," Fenton directed.

"What if the others come looking for him?" asked Frank with a frown.

"Maybe they'll think he left the house and got hit by a tree branch," Fenton suggested with a shrug. "At any rate, we can't let him go. He knows we're here."

They hauled their captive through the dining room, down the hall and into the basement. "I am going to check the tunnel," Fenton said after they gagged their prisoner and returned to the hall.

"You can't," argued Frank. "There could be more Assassins in there. We'll have to figure out a way to get Joe after he's topside."

"In that case, let's awaken our prisoner and start questioning him," Fenton said opening the basement door once again. "Stay up here and let me know if you hear any more movement. We may have to make a hasty retreat."

Frank nodded his agreement although he preferred to be present for the questioning. He shut the basement door after his dad then returned to the kitchen. There were no viable hiding places where they could surprise the Assassins when they returned and no way for a quick exit even if there were. The house had no back door.

Frank frowned as he looked out the window. He could see two men roaming around; seemingly searching for something or someone. Had their presence been discovered? Frank left the kitchen and went into the living room. Outside that window he could see more men walking about the premises.

Frank returned to the basement just as his father was replacing the gag in the Assassin's mouth. "There are Assassins everywhere," Frank informed his father.

Fenton nodded. "They're looking for Joe," he informed Frank, smiling. "He got away on his own."

After what seemed like forever Joe saw some light and followed it. He had realized some time ago that he was lost and had turned around to retrace his steps but couldn't find his way in the darkness. He thought if he could at least get out of the tunnel he could make his way back to the house from the outside.

He stumbled as his toe connected with a rock he didn't see and he fell. Groaning, he put his hand against his knee and held it tight to block the pain. He just knew he had lost a little skin.

Not really wanting to get up, but knowing he had too, he rose to his feet and continued toward the light. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could see the submarine that had brought him to the island surfaced just beyond reach of the rocks.

Joe's stomach rolled as he watched the ship rocking on the waves. Gagging, he bent over and became ill. As he finished, a cloth, wet with seawater, was thrust into his hand. 


	16. Chapter 16

Joe took the cloth and wiped his face. "Thanks," he said, looking at the person who had handed it to him. "When did you get here?" he asked, shock evident on his pale face. "How did you get here?" "Later," the Gray Man said, looking around. "This place is crawling with Assassins."

"Probably looking for me," Joe replied. "I got lost going from the shelter to the house in the tunnels."

"There is a tunnel system?" Gray demanded, grabbing Joe's arm in a tight grip.

Joe nodded then closed his eyes wishing he hadn't. "I really don't feel so good," he said, laying a hand against his stomach.

"It's probably the Rhyozine," Gray commented.

"The what?" Joe asked, feeling hot again.

"Rhyozine," Gray answered. "When we took over the submarine we had an intensive interrogation with the captain. He was ordered to begin administering the Rhyozine to you on the trip to the island. Nausea; fever; dry mouth; those are some of the possible side effects. The Rhyozine was supposed to make you easier to control."

"Figures," Joe commented bitterly.

"Why did they kidnap you?" Gray asked.

"Because I'm the heir," Joe said with a wry smile. "The real Joe Hardy and I were switched at birth. Danny died a couple of years ago and then you killed my natural father a little after that. My natural mother decided she wanted me back since Danny and Jeremy were both dead."

"You really lead an exciting life even when you don't try, don't you?" Gray commented with a shake of his head.

"Boring might be nice for a change," said Joe not disagreeing.

"Well, I can't guarantee a long change, but I think you would be better off on the submarine while we wrap up here," Gray said, motioning for one of his men to come nearer. "Tyler, take Joe back to the ship," he ordered the man.

"They have a supply of weapons in the basement of the house," Joe hastily informed Gray as Tyler took his arm. "The tunnel entrance is in the kitchen and Laurel, the leader, is in the shelter. The, uh," Joe paused as his stomach bubbled and he felt another wave of nausea threaten to engulf him. "The Assassins are armed with tranquilizer darts. Laurel didn't want me to be killed if I tried to escape."

"Thanks, Joe," Gray said, smiling at the youth. "Now go and get some rest. You'll feel better after a few hours." Joe nodded and allowed himself to be led to the boat that belonged to the submarine.

"Don't look so happy," Frank warned his father. "What if Joe thinks the storm is over?"

"We'd better find him," Fenton declared, his smile turning into a scowl.

The two headed toward the front of the house but froze when they heard movement from the kitchen. "Hide," hissed Fenton.

Taking cover, they listened as the door opened and footsteps approached. "Find the basement," a familiar voice ordered.

"Gray?" Fenton demanded, not coming out of hiding.

"Hands in the air and show yourself," ordered Gray, not taking any chances.

Fenton and Frank lifted their arms high above their heads and stood up. "Aren't you early?" Fenton demanded. "The storm isn't over yet."

"By then, it may have been too late," Gray replied. "We caught a spy in headquarters. He was feeding some guy named Lance information."

"Which explains why the artillery was brought in this morning," Frank said. "The Assassins have..."

"Had a submarine," Gray corrected him before he could even finish. "It's ours now and most of the Assassins on the island are prisoners except for a few still roaming around outside that will be taken care of soon if they haven't been already. We arrested the leader as well."

"Did you find Joe?" Fenton asked in concern. "We have a captive in the basement that told us Joe had gotten away."

"We did," Gray acknowledged. "He's on the submarine," Gray answered. "The medication they were giving him made him sick."

"The sub won't be safe in the hurricane," Frank said, worried.

"Once it's deep enough, it will be," Gray assured him. "But we don't have much time left before the second wave hits. Let's finish what we can and get off the island," he suggested, quirking an eyebrow.

Fenton nodded. "I'll show you where the basement is," he said, leading the way.

By the time the eye had passed, the Hardys, the Network and the Assassins were all deep beneath the surface. "Did you get them all?" Joe asked Gray as he, his dad and Frank entered the small room where he had been recovering. He had taken another nap after being given some Gatorade and was now feeling more like his old self. Apparently, the effects of the medication wore off once it was no longer being administered.

"Except for the one called Lance," Gray answered. "We couldn't find him anywhere but once the storm has passed we will start a full-scale search and comb the island from its peak to the depths of the tunnels."

"How long will that be?" Frank asked.

"The storm is expected to pass by in another hour. It wasn't big and it has already lost some of it's punch and been downgraded to a tropical storm," Gray stated. He turned to leave. "There are things that need my attention," he said, knowing the three needed to talk. "We should be safe to surface in about two hours," he concluded, exiting and closing the door to give them their privacy.

"You shouldn't have come with the Network," Joe began.

"We didn't," Frank interrupted him. "We were on the island before they arrived."

"We wanted to get you out of the line of fire before the Network arrived," Fenton explained at Joe's surprised look.

Joe looked away from them, afraid to see the shame and disgust he knew would be there. "You should have stayed away. I'm...I'm not even your real son." Joe waited for the eruption of anger that he thought would come but was completely taken off guard when Fenton came to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"You don't understand," Joe said, shaking his head and trying to pull away. "At the hospital..."

"You and Danny were switched at birth," Fenton said. "I know. Your mother and I found out nine years ago."

"You...nine...how...?" Joe wanted to know, his face a classic example of shock.

Fenton told Joe the same thing he had told Frank. "And you didn't want to switch us back?" Joe asked, confused.

"Of course not," Fenton stated with finality. "Joe, it takes more than flesh and blood to make a child. You are my son because of who you came to be not because of whom you were born as."

"What Dad is trying to say is that destiny made a mistake by having you born a Hardin so you were switched with Danny at birth to rectify the situation," Frank told Joe, his voice gentle but sincere.

"It really doesn't matter that I'm not a real Hardy?" Joe asked in disbelief.

"But you are," Fenton insisted. "You are as much a Hardy as Frank or I. You are my son and nothing can change that. I love you. Your mother loves you."

"I love you," Frank put in quickly.

"And the fact that you have different genes doesn't matter at all," Fenton continued. "In every way that counts, you are a Hardy. You may not have been born one, but you were raised one. And that will never change and I will fight anyone to the death who tries to take you away."

Joe knew without a doubt his father was speaking the truth. He could see it in his eyes. If Laurel ever managed to escape and come for him again, she would have the fight of her life and then she would lose. "Mom feels that way too?" Joe asked, his blue eyes still a bit unsure.

"Are you kidding?" Fenton asked, laughing. "When she saw the surveillance photos Jeremy had taken of you, she called me and told me to bring you home and if I needed her to come, she would personally eliminate that woman who had the nerve to steal her baby!"

Joe's eyes were bright as he hugged his father, all the anxiety and fear he had felt evaporating as he felt his brother sandwich him in from the other side.

"You dope," Frank told him when they broke apart. "Did you honestly believe you could get away that easily? You still owe me a shirt."

End 


End file.
